


Idiocy Is A Disadvantage (Caring Is Too, But That’s Less Important)

by lafleurasexuee



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Graysexual Mycroft Holmes, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentioned Mrs Hudson, Misunderstandings, Mycroft Holmes Has Feelings, Mycroft Holmes Needs a Hug, Mycroft Holmes and Greg Lesrrade Being Idiots, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson Being Idiots, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:02:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26254594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lafleurasexuee/pseuds/lafleurasexuee
Summary: Greg Lestrade is an idiot, Mycroft Holmes is also an idiot, Sherlock tries to be a matchmaker, angst and fluff ensue. Rating is for language and very vague mention of sex.
Relationships: Greg Lestrade & John Watson, Mycroft Holmes & Sherlock Holmes, Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 15
Kudos: 143





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ahhh my first fic in this fandom!!!! I’ve been reading tons of mystrade so if this reads like another fic, lmk. No intentional plagiarism here; just inspiration. Also, I tried to write it British but I’m an American so yeah. That being said, enjoy!!!!

For all that it happened slowly, Greg realized it all at once. They were at one of their usual places, Greg watching Mycroft watching him eat, and it dawned on Greg that they weren’t talking about Sherlock. Well, that’s not quite right. It dawned on Greg that they hadn’t talked about Sherlock in a very long time, since John proved his loyalty and took the role of Sherlock’s protector fully, yet they had continued the meetings. 

And that was another thing. They were supposed to be meetings, but the more Greg thought about the various dinners he and Mycroft had spent together, he realized that they were much more than meetings—they were dates. Mycroft had been taking Greg on dates all this time and he’d only just realized. What a copper he was!

Greg must’ve been staring because Mycroft raised an eyebrow. 

“Is everything all right, Gregory?”

Greg swallowed. It had taken far too long to get Mycroft to call him by his name and now that he did, it affected Greg much the same way. 

Greg cleared his throat. 

“Oh, erm, yes?”

Mycroft raised both eyebrows and Greg marveled at the delicacy of the expression before remembering himself. 

“I, erm, there is something, but I rather, well—“

“Gregory, do get on with it,” Mycroft‘s words were impatient but his tone and expression were fond, and that was all Greg needed to say it. 

“Are these dates?”

If Greg wasn’t watching Mycroft so intently, he wouldn’t have noticed the minuscule flash between horror and panic before his face settled into his trademark mask that had earned him the title “The Iceman.” Greg opened his mouth to apologize, but Mycroft beat him to it. 

“I am terribly sorry if I misled you in any way, Detective Inspector, but I believe my wish for acquaintance with you was rather clear from the start. For now, I would propose we take some space to clear the air.”

Greg half wanted to cry and half wanted to punch Mycroft, if only to make his face do something other than that horrible mask Greg loathed. Even worse was the reversion to not his last name, but all the way back to his title. Greg tried to think of something to say, but Mycroft gathered his things, rose, and glided out of the establishment before Greg could close his mouth. 

_Shite_. 


	2. Chapter 2

Greg moped through the remaining evening and the next day. He went through the motions of work without heart; he didn’t register the comments Donovan made about Sherlock that he would have chastised her for any other day. His coworkers seemed to take note of his mood, as they largely left him alone. 

It wasn’t until he let his feet carry himself to the establishment that he realized he was meeting John there for drinks, as they did every week. He sighed and pushed his way into the bar, finding John waiting for him at a booth. 

“Greg! I was starting to worry; I thought you might’ve forgotten”

Greg blinked. His mood must have reflected in sluggish movements, making him slower than usual. John looked him over. 

“Mate, you really look like you could use a drink.”

Greg nodded and sunk into the booth. A couple of rounds later, John set his drink down and stared at Greg. For his part, Greg took another swig. 

“Greg. What’s wrong? By now you’d be complaining about work or Sherlock or both.”

Greg closed his eyes. He didn’t register what he was saying until he’d said it. 

“How did you and Sherlock, y’know, get together?”

Johns eyes widened.

“You mean how’d Sherlock and I pull our heads out of our arses to realize we were in love with each other?”

Greg shrugged. 

“Yeah, that.”

John ran his hand through his hair and thought a moment. 

“All right, I’ll tell you, but after, you have to tell me what’s up with you.”

Greg nodded and waited for John to start. 

“Well, it was after a case. We’d just gotten back to Baker Street and the adrenaline was still high and we were standing in the doorway together because it was raining, and I didn’t think; I just kissed him. I mean, he was right there. Anyways, he froze and bolted. Mrs. H found me standing there staring after him. He ignored me after that. He wouldn’t come back to Baker Street, he hid from me, and he wouldn’t answer my texts or calls. I didn’t want to go to Mycroft to find him, so I waited at the flat. Eventually, he did show up. He apologized, I accepted it, he started explaining why he ran, I stopped him and told him I cared for him, deeply, and that, yes, I’d done that act in the moment, but I meant it with every bit of me. He asked me what my intentions were exactly, I could hardly keep myself from laughing, and I told him I wanted to be with him, romantically, because I loved him. And I told him he was a dolt. But he told me he loved me too and that he wanted that too, so I asked him if I could kiss him, and he said yes, so I did, and, well, here we are.”

Greg nodded, taking it in. 

“So, he ran at first? Even though he wanted it?”

John nodded. 

“Yeah. I mean, he didn’t have the most traditional upbringing and he’d never had as strong feelings for anyone as he had for me so he didn’t know quite what to do. Truth be told, I think he was wise to give us space. I was able to realize that I really loved him and wanted him and was able to accept that, and he was able to do so as well. It also gave me time to reflect on our time together, and boy, there were so many times he was shouting at me he loved me, I’m not surprised he didn’t think I really loved him too. I mean, that first dinner at Angelo’s should’ve been a glaring sign. Him treating me to dinner at a high end place like that, the candles, all of it. I’m just glad we sorted it out and we ended up where we are now.”

Greg cursed. 

“Fuck, all this time, he—and I—fucking untraditional upbringing.”

“Want to let me in on your conversation with yourself?”

Greg looked up, sure his face looked desperate. 

“How long?”

“Wh-“

“How long did it take him?”

“Uh, a couple of days, little under a week?”

“Fuck!”

“Greg, what’s going on?”

“I can’t wait that long! It’ll probably be even longer for him!”

“Right, yeah, for who?”

Greg was distraught. 

“It’s just like you said. The dinners. The freezing. Fuck, all of it. I swear, I’ll find whoever made him like that, I’ll ruin them!”

John grabbed Greg’s wrists and pinned them to the table. 

“Greg. Tell me what happened.”

“I-I asked him if they were dates. I thought I’d read it right, I knew I’d read it right, but he clammed up like he hasn’t with me since he started calling me ‘Gregory’ and he left and—fuck—it came off wrong, didn’t it? I didn’t mean it like that, I was asking because I didn’t want to do something that’d make him uncomfortable, but then I did anyway, and-and— oh, fuck.”

John sucked in a breath. He threw money on the table and supported Greg out of the place. 

“I’m taking you to Baker Street,” he announced as he hailed a cab. 

The cab ride was short, but Greg wasn’t there enough to notice when they arrived and John paid and helped him out and up the stairs. He didn’t notice the black car parked across the street, three doors down. He didn’t notice the voices coming from the flat. 

John unlocked the door and stood there for a second, taking in the sight. Mycroft was sitting, his face in his hands, and Sherlock was talking to him softly but sternly. Greg’s vision cleared enough to see the object of both his desires and pain. 

“Mycroft?” Greg choked out. 

Mycroft’s back snapped rod straight at the voice and he didn’t spare anyone a glance; just raced out the door. Greg thought he saw that his eyes and nose were red—signs of crying—but he couldn’t be sure. 

John dragged Greg in and sat him on the couch. He brought him water and forced him to take a couple sips before stalking to the bedroom to have a word with Sherlock.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock’s POV!

John slammed the door behind him. 

“What the hell did you say to Mycroft, Sherlock?”

Sherlock scoffed. 

“I could ask you the same about Greg.”

John rolled his eyes. 

“Greg opened up to me about something painful that happened to him.”

“Painful? To Lestrade? He’s the one who made my brother cry for the first time since Father died.”

John’s jaw dropped. 

“I—what?”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. 

“You didn’t realize that Lestrade was talking about Mycroft.”

John shook his head and sat on the bed, fight out of him. 

“So-so Greg and Mycroft have been meeting at restaurants since your brother trusted him to keep tabs on you.”

Sherlock nodded. 

“And they continued meeting long after that purpose had passed.”

“Greg really is an idiot, for thinking—“

“What? For thinking what?”

“That they were dates.”

Sherlock scoffed. 

“Of course they were dates!”

John huffed. 

“Then what’s the problem? Mycroft’s been taking Greg on dates, Greg realized and asked him about it, and, what, Mycroft leaves him high and dry?”

Sherlock shook his head. 

“Remember—“

“Of course, that’s why Greg asked how we got together and why he fixated on that part.”

Sherlock nodded. 

“At first, it was something we bonded over,” he confessed. 

John remained silent, letting him elaborate. 

“Our pining after men who deserved better than us and couldn’t possibly feel the same way.”

John opened his mouth, but Sherlock waved his hand. 

“I know now I was wrong. After the night you told me you loved me and that you wanted to be involved with me romantically, I wanted to tell him, if nothing else, to gloat in his face. But I was scared that you were not genuine, that it wouldn’t last. After the night where I let you see my scars and you didn’t leave but kissed them, I realized it was real and needed to tell Mycroft. Not to gloat, but to show him there was a chance for him too. He didn’t believe me at first—not about us, but about there being a chance for him. But it was too tempting for him to refuse consideration. He asked me what to do and I told him what I did with you. We didn’t meet about it; he or I would let the other know if there was a drastic change. I didn’t realize Lestrade was still unaware; I’ve never been keen to the matters of the heart.”

John squeezed his hand. 

“Neither has Mycroft. Greg was daft and startled when he realized they were dates, so the way he said it could very well have been interpreted as harmful or mocking. He didn’t mean it that way, though. He was just asking so he wouldn’t make an unwelcome advancement.”

Sherlock sighed. 

“I’m never playing matchmaker again.”

John laughed. 

“It’s all right, love, we just have to get them to talk to each other now.”

Sherlock hummed and nuzzled into John’s neck.


	4. Chapter 4

Greg woke disoriented and confused. Then he remembered the events or the day before and shot up, immediately regretting it due to the throbbing in his head. Sherlock appeared a moment later with pills and water, which Greg gratefully accepted. 

“Before you’re too awake to interrupt, you and my brother need to speak. The difference between you two and me and John is that you have us to forcefully shove your heads out of your respective arses.”

With that, Sherlock spun into the kitchen. Greg groaned. It was too early to deal with Holmeses. 

At three o’clock precisely, the buzzer sounded. John went and returned momentarily with a stiff Mycroft. Greg was still on the couch and felt suddenly self-conscious in front of the man in the immaculate suit. Greg could see Mycroft’s jaw clench. 

“Brother dear, I fail to see why you have summoned me here.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. 

“Because you two need to talk. Properly. John and I are going out, we’ll be back in two hours. You’d better not be shagging on the couch then.”

Greg’s cheeks flushed and he could see the very faint tinge that indicated a blush on Mycroft. 

Sherlock grabbed John, and they were gone. Greg swallowed. 

“So, ah—“

“Detective Inspector, I am terribly sorry for my brother’s antics. I can promise you that—“

“Oh, shut up, Mycroft.”

Mycroft’s mouth snapped shut. Greg ran a hand through his hair. 

“Okay. First of all, avoiding saying my name isn’t going to do anything. You putting up your awful mask isn’t going to do anything. Me pretending I didn’t hear Sherlock explaining to John last night how he’d given you advice about me isn’t going to do anything. We’re going to be honest. I’m going to ask what I asked before. Were those dates?”

Mycroft swallowed.

“Yes.”

“Good.”

A flurry of emotions crossed Mycroft’s face. 

“Yes, Mycroft, good. I really wanted to kiss you then and wanted to make sure you were okay with it.”

“Wanted?”

“Fuck. Wanted, want. I still want, Mycroft. I want to kiss you, I want your friendship, and I want something more if you’d be okay with it. I want you. In every way imaginable.”

Mycroft looked to the side. 

“You’re sure?”

“What the—of course I’m sure! I just spent the last day and a half in misery because I thought I’d ruined our friendship and I’d take wanting over not having at all.”

Mycroft shook his head. 

“No, I mean, you’re sure... me?”

The self-deprecation written across Mycroft’s face broke Greg’s heart, and he softened. 

“Are you kidding me?” He whispered. “You’re fucking gorgeous. Who wouldn’t want you?”

Mycroft shivered. 

“I might—“

“I don’t care. You won’t know if you don’t give me a chance.”

Mycroft nodded. 

“I don’t—the proper protocol for this sort of thing...”

Greg smiled softly. 

“Seeing as we’ve already been on so many dates, I was hoping I could have a kiss?”

Mycroft nodded, eyes wide. Greg rose from the couch and stopped right in front of him. He held his hands first, then released one to caress the side of his face. Mycroft shivered as his eyes fell closed. 

“Is this okay?” Greg murmured. 

Mycroft nodded slightly. 

“Yes.”

Greg leaned in and brushed his lips against Mycroft’s. At the first taste, he immediately wanted to devour him, but he could tell Mycroft needed to be treated right; he’d very obviously never done this before. Not that that was a bad thing. 

Greg pulled back softly and Mycroft sighed. His eyes fluttered open. 

“Gregory, that was—perfect.”

Greg smiled softly. 

“What do you think about taking this somewhere else?”

Mycroft froze. 

“Shite, not like that, Mycroft. I’ll take things as slow as you like. I just meant we have some more talking to do and I usually like to cuddle after being emotionally drained. Nothing else, if you don’t want.”

Mycroft released a breath. 

“I may want, someday, but...”

Greg could hear the “I’m scared you’ll tire of me before then.”

“As long as you need, darling. Or never. I just want you, in whichever way I can have you. If we never do more than we just did, I’m okay with that. I promise.”

Mycroft let out a shaky breath and Greg wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes. He kissed him again, just as softly as before. 

In Greg’s embrace, Mycroft could cede that his brother was right. Allowing himself this one disadvantage was worth it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As someone who’s asexual, writing the end of this was very cathartic. However, not all people who are aspec are the same and our comfort levels are different. Mycroft is graysexual in this fic and suffers from a form of social anxiety. He craves intimacy with Greg, but panics when he has the chance to be intimate with him. Greg is amazing and understands and lets Mycroft know that he won’t pressure him into anything he’s uncomfortable with. Before touching him and kissing him, Greg asks for his explicit consent. Basically, a partner like Greg in this fic is an asexual’s wet dream. I also love projecting onto my characters.


End file.
